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by platupous



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platupous/pseuds/platupous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After more than a year of living together in domestic bliss, James is ready for something more. Jeremy isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

It wasn't easy being in love with a man. True, most of the usual relationship pitfalls didn't apply; no sharing a bed, separate bathrooms, no "I have a headache tonight" moments. All the great things about living together without the sacrifices.

Except sex. It wasn't like he was a homosexualist or anything. Looking at James made him feel warm and soft and all those stupid things, but it certainly didn't turn him on. They didn't kiss because, well, because that was _gay_. And if kissing was gay and they couldn't bring themselves to do it, how on earth were they expected to do other things? Touching and...stuff.

They'd tried. They really had. James went so far as to watch hours of gay porn and actually like it. He'd even talked himself into touching Jeremy. But when his hand made contact with his chest - not a light, friendly touch, but a touch loaded with filthy promises - Jeremy had run away. Literally.

He could do affectionate. He'd been doing it for years with both James and Richard. And the nature of that affection was very different between the two. That didn't mean he wanted James' cock anywhere near, well, near any part of him, really.

Always determined, Jeremy had given gay porn a shot of his own and it wasn't for him. Did all homosexualists do all that tying-up and beating stuff? And that thing with the- the stuff. Pushing it back out so someone else could...no. He couldn't even think about it.

So he'd stuck to his nice, normal, man-fucking-woman porn and had a wank when the mood struck. Not that he'd tell James that. And not that it struck often. He wasn't getting any younger, and it was weird trying to do it if James was home. Jeremy always worried he'd hear what he was doing or worse, catch him doing it.

He supposed James did much the same thing, but it wasn't like he was going to ask. There were just some things men didn't talk about.

Not that anyone told James that. Nearly a year into their nice, quiet, settled life together, James had asked if he could suck him off.

In typical James fashion, it had looked like he was actually asking the floor. And of course it was out of the blue, jolting Jeremy with surprise so that he wasn't entirely certain he'd heard properly over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

James had stood there shuffling his feet, and that was all the confirmation Jeremy needed.

"You- you want- to do _that_?!" he'd spluttered.

"Thought it might be worth a try," came the muffled response from behind James' hair.

Bewildered and overwhelmed, Jeremy had just turned and walked away, locking himself into his room for the night.

The love was real. He had stopped questioning that a long time ago. He just couldn't bring himself do any of that stuff with James. It wasn't like he did anything with anyone; they were together and, despite what the hacks at the Daily Mail liked to write, he was an honourable man.

It was four awkward days before they'd settled back down into their normal routine. Back in his comfort zone, Jeremy hoped they'd never go through that again. But James was just as persistent as Jeremy and, true to form, he'd brought it up again.

"Jez?"

"Hrmm?" he'd absently acknowledged.

"Jez, can you put down that magazine?"

Looking up over his reading glasses, Jeremy saw the intent look on James' face and set the magazine on the coffee table. Sitting back up, he pulled off his glasses and scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to brace himself for whatever fresh hell James was dragging him to.

"I- you." James paused to choose his words before continuing. "I like this. Our life, I mean."

"I do too, James."

"I know that. I care about you. A lot, actually. Er, love you."

Jeremy remained silent and James began playing with the hem of his shirt, flipping it up and down as he chose his next words.

"I'm not a young man, Jeremy, neither of us are. But we're not dead. Not yet. And I..." James broke off, suddenly uncertain as if he could tell Jeremy what he wanted to. "I'd like to- I have needs. I don't know if you do, but I assume you do, and...you...we..."

"Go on."

James couldn't read his tone and glanced up from his lap in search of a clue that might have told him how Jeremy was taking this. Not seeing anything that set off alarms, James continued speaking.

"I need something more in my life that we don't have," he'd stated, all trace of hesitancy gone from his voice. "I need intimacy, to be able to touch and be touched."

"You mean sex."

"Not just that, Jeremy."

"Then what?"

"Intimacy. You know...two people who care about each other actually showing it."

"I made you tea last night."

James barked out a humourless laugh and shook his head.

"I did!"

"Yes. Yes, you did. And I appreciated it. I appreciate everything you do for me Jeremy. I know some of it doesn't come as naturally to you as it might to some others, and I appreciate it, appreciate you, all the more for it."

"Ok...?"

"Oh, sod it."

"Right. That's settled then." And Jeremy leant forward to pick up his glasses and magazine.

The days following that exchange hadn't been nearly as awkward and Jeremy felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Until Hurricane Hammond blew in.

"Oi! Clarkson!" Richard's voice carried across the car park and Jeremy turned to see the man jogging towards him. When he'd reached him, the serious look on his face made Jeremy uneasy.

"What did you do to James?"

"What?"

"What. Did. You. Do. To. James."

"I haven't done anything to James!" Jeremy thought for a moment, and then repeated, "Nothing."

"So no idea why he asked if he could stay with me for a bit?"

Jeremy exploded. The next few seconds or minutes or hours were a blur of red and noise, the sharp edge of anger pushed relentlessly forward by fear and panic.

The next he knew, Hammond was corralling Andy and some of the crew (nosey parkers) away from them, assuring them all was fine and he had it taken care of.

Alone again, Richard blew out a shaky breath and looked at Jeremy out the corners of his eyes.

“Look, mate, I don't know what's going on, don't really want to know. But you need to fix it."

"Me? I don't know what's going on, either! Why am I to blame?"

"Because you're his boyfriend and you're the man he's trying to get away from."

The full impact of Richard's words hit him in the gut and he staggered, clutching at his stomach with one arm and reaching to grab hold of anything to keep him from falling over with the other.

"Steady on, mate," Richard said while placing steadying hands firmly on Jeremy's shoulders.

"Hammond -"

"Yeah. I know. Fix it." Withdrawing his hands, Richard turned on his heel and headed inside.

At home that night, Jeremy was at a loss as to how to start a conversation about a subject he didn't even know. He poured two glasses of wine and sat down on the stool at the counter to wait for James.

He looked around the kitchen and his eyes came to rest on the ridiculous motorbike-shaped trivet that Hammond had given them as a house-warming gift. Jeremy had laid down the law on sight, making no attempt to spare Richard's feelings as he proclaimed how awful it was and how it wasn't going anywhere near his kitchen. Richard had looked a little hurt, but that passed quickly as James had just plucked it out of the tissue paper and take it to the kitchen, setting it down next to the stove. He'd come back humming quietly, looking mighty pleased with himself.

Jeremy took a sip of wine and tried to focus on the present. He needed to be ready to talk when James came home and for the first time in his life, words perhaps weren't going to be enough.

When James finally did come home, Jeremy sat quietly listening to James while he hung up his jacket and emptied his pockets onto what Jeremy thought of as the James Table next to the front door. He didn't answer when James called out to him, but soon enough James stood across the counter looking down at him.

Jeremy nudged the untouched glass of wine in his direction and waited while James took a sip.

"What's this, then?" James asked.

"Talked to Hammond today."

"Oh?" James asked, not sounding particularly surprised.

"I- " Jeremy struggled to tell James how he felt without making himself more vulnerable than he already felt. "James, don't leave. It'll kill me if you do."

"Jeremy, it will do no such thing. And I didn't say I was leaving you; I said I needed some time away to think."

"About us?"

"About us. Yes."

"So when are you going?"

"I'm not."

"You're not?" Jeremy asked, hating the pathetic sound of hope even as it warmed him.

"Richard said no."

"Oh." Defeated, Jeremy hauled himself up from the stool and made his way to the couch, unable to help himself from studying the indentation on the opposite end. James' seat. On their couch.

"Jeremy," James started as he followed him into the room, "I do need some time away. I need a little distance to decide if I can keep living like this or not."

"You said you liked our life," Jeremy responded petulantly. 

"I also said it's lacking something I need. And now I must figure out if I can keep on like that or if..." He trailed off, unwilling to say it.

"I get haemorrhoids," Jeremy announced.

"What?" James spluttered.

"Haemorrhoids. I get them sometimes. And I have a gut. A big one. And my face isn't the only thing that's wrinkled. And...and..."

"You mean you're just like pretty much every other middle-aged bloke in the world."

"I- huh?"

"Jeremy, I really don't care what you look like naked. I mean, I do, but not the way you seem to think. And somehow I doubt it's insecurity that keeps us from being intimate."

"I just, I don't think I can really stand the thought of us, you know. Doing that stuff."

"It's not all that different from being with a woman, actually."

"You said -"

"I haven't," James broke in. "But the mechanics aren't all that different and I suppose that other than hair where breasts would be and having two penises instead of one involved, it would be about the same. Intimacy is about the person you're with, no matter what body type that houses them."

"Sounds pretty fucking different to me," Jeremy grumbled.

"Can I kiss you?"

"What? Now?"

"I can turn the lights off, if you'd prefer."

"I- ok. Yeah. Off is good."

When James had kissed him, Jeremy thought it was highly unfair that he'd neglected to mention the stubble in place of smooth skin when he'd listed the supposed differences.

Jeremy pulled away, uncomfortable, but not as much as he'd expected. James had only pressed their lips together and kept his hands to himself, and it really wasn't that bad. It was a man and it was wrong, but at least it was James.

"Still with me, Clarkson?"

"Yeah."

"Can I do it again?"

"Yeah."

It was during their third kiss that James tentatively raised a hand to rest on Jeremy's shoulder. It felt the same as any woman doing that, and Jeremy supposed he could handle it.

It was James' moan that frightened him away. It was all deep and groany and masculine. Any chance Jeremy had of an erection was killed by the rumble that came out of James.

"Sorry," James told the carpet.

"'S not your fault," Jeremy told the fireplace.

"I have to go," James told him.

"Stay. Just...give me some time. I know you've already given me a lot and I didn't do shit with it, but just give me a little more. That's all I ask, James."

"Ok," James said quietly.

"I have to tell you, though," Jeremy said, turning around to face James. "I'm not really sure how this works. I mean, how do we decide who's going to be the woman? And when we do, does the other one have to give her a knob job?"

James' laughter had startled him and Jeremy got the distinct impression that he'd bollocksed everything up again.

"You pillock," James said affectionately. "It doesn't work that way."

"And the straps?"

"What straps?"

"You know, the straps,” Jeremy said, gesticulating wildly. “The ones that go to the bed."

"What are you talking about? Bondage?"

"Yeah, that," Jeremy said.

"Is that something you want to do?"

"No!" Jeremy spat vehemently.

"Then why would we need them?"

"Because it's what homosexualists do."

"Not all of them, Jeremy."

"Oh. Good," Jeremy hadn't tried to hide the relief.

"Look, it's getting late and I have a column to write still. Maybe we can get a curry and leave all this 'til tomorrow night?"

"I'll order."

When he looked back on it, Jeremy couldn't remember how many nights they'd spent getting used to kissing. Always in the dark, always leaning awkwardly across the empty cushion between them, then gradually moving closer each night until they were nearly together. Jeremy had felt like a teenager again, retreating to his room more than a couple nights for a furious wank. He was certain he'd heard James do the same once or twice.

James was always careful not to touch him, and when Jeremy finally realised that's what he wanted, he hadn't known how to ask for it. He'd grabbed James' hand, brought it to his chest, and murmured, "Above the belt," against his lips.

Jeremy knew James wanted more, but he also knew that it was enough for the time being. They were moving slowly enough for Jeremy to keep his grip on their settled, domestic life, but fast enough that James didn't feel neglected.

The irony wasn't lost on Jeremy.

It was he who initiated the first touch of a leg. He swore he could feel James' heat through his jeans, and it scared him a little. He'd pulled back abruptly, the shock of what he'd done as overwhelming as the result. James hadn't said anything.

Jeremy knew they'd have to get off the couch at some point. He was too old and too broken to do much more on the couch than they already had, and James wasn't much better off.

Since he had the larger and nicer bedroom (James was a shit decorator, which hadn't really come as surprise what with his love of floral shirts and motor-bikes), Jeremy decided they'd have to use his room. And he'd meant to tell James that, but they'd had a busy day filming and traffic had been bad on the way home and he'd spent the evening fretting over the cooking, and it had just slipped his mind until he saw James headed towards the couch.

"I thought maybe we could go to my room tonight," he said.

The look on James' face would have been hilarious under any other circumstances; all hopeful and scared and looking like all his Christmases had come at once but every present he opened was plastic vomit.

"Same as usual, just more comfortable," Jeremy had clarified, and the look on James' face then broke his heart a little.

Jeremy could remember exactly how many nights they'd spent sitting just as awkwardly on his bed before he pushed James over to lay down. It took three nights and five wanks before he couldn't wait to feel pressure right where he needed it most and he'd pushed him back and laid across him, rutting against James' body before he even had time to notice James was thrusting his own erection against Jeremy.

Jeremy had nearly come in his jeans that first night, and he did the second night.

From there, it really wasn't so much of a leap to grope at each other, bring each other off through their clothes. It nearly became a habit and Jeremy wondered more than once if he was training his body that it had to be clothed for him to come.

"Want you to touch me," he'd murmured into James' hair one night.

"I am," had been the muffled response.

"No. _Touch me_ ," he'd whined. So James did.

It was one thing to be touched and another to be the one touching. Jeremy hadn't thought about it before, hadn't had cause to, but the realisation left him feeling silly and useless.

"I'm such rubbish," he'd groused while he'd paced the room.

"I wish I had my tape recorder," James said, the smile evident in his voice.

"How can you...how can you love me? You do love me, right?"

"Jeremy, I love you," James answered evenly.

"Why? How?"

"I just do. Let's go watch some telly. I'll put on some tea and we can relax a little." And it wouldn't have been so absurd if his cock hadn't been hanging out over his jeans.

When he finally made the leap, Jeremy was disturbed by how familiar James' cock felt in his hand. His brain knew it was holding a cock, but the usual sensations were absent. Of course the angle was all wrong and it took him a few tries to find a mutually satisfying grip, but mostly it felt like his own cock. Maybe just a tad bit bigger if he were being brutally honest, and the veins were in the wrong spots, but it was just another warm tube of flesh that pulsed and jerked and spat and went to sleep.

He'd never in his life thought he'd turn down a blowjob, but the thought of stubble burn on his thighs was enough to put a stop to anything and everything they were doing any time James tried to give him one.

He was still trying to work out which of them was the woman when James groaned "Fuck me" one night. And while Jeremy's cock liked that idea very much, literally jumping up and down and foaming at the mouth at James' plea, Jeremy himself hadn't been too sure.

James had hair on his arse. And they'd need lube. And Jeremy would have to put his fingers up there. And the hair would get all tangled and matted and twisted and stuck to his fingers and that was where James...Jeremy stopped himself completing that thought, but just barely. James sensed Jeremy's hesitation and didn't press the issue, just reached down between them and brought Jeremy's mind to screaming halt.

He used James' laptop to look up some things his mind couldn't decide on. It was truly a labour of love to mine through the porn and find useful information, but he'd made up his mind to make this final leap.

He wasn't sold on the idea that James wasn't the woman of the relationship just because he wished to be penetrated, but he was able to accept that this was something he might be able to do. 

For all his ability to talk endlessly about cars and military history and what was wrong with every country in the world, he had a hard time talking to James about sex. He knew they'd need to talk about it and agree on some things beforehand, but the words wouldn't come out.

In typical fashion, he'd blurted it all out during a rather intense moment when they were naked and writhing under the covers of his (their) bed. It had been a little off-putting to explain to James that it was best they try it with James on his knees and Jeremy behind the first time, and he'd actually blushed when he asked if James knew how to prepare himself, but the feeling of pushing into him that first time was worth it. Jeremy hadn't lasted long enough to even finish getting all the way in, but James was kind enough not to mock him for it.

It was thirty nights before Jeremy was able to do it facing James. The sight of James' womanly long hair tangling across the sheets was an odd contrast to his hairy chest and bobbing cock, but the heat was even more intense than ever before and James was just as tight as the first time he'd pressed inside and embarrassed himself. He'd found himself so caught up in the sensation that he hadn't even thought about it when he took James' cock into his hand and started wanking him off in time to his thrusts.

He hadn't known if he should continue after James had come, but James dug his heel into Jeremy's thigh and urged him on. It hadn't taken long; shock was the only thing that had kept him from coming when James had clamped down on him almost painfully hard and then shuddered and writhed beneath him.

When he'd pulled out, he'd laid down without thinking about it and wrapped his arms around James even as he'd fallen asleep.

A few months later when Richard needed a place to crash after a late night, he'd brushed off their offers to stay with them, claiming their couch wasn't worth saving the 200 quid he'd spend on a hotel room.

The look on his face when James told him he could use his old room had Jeremy laughing all the way home.


End file.
